


Lesser of Two Evils

by MacButton



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Achievement Hunters, Alpha Ryan Haywood, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Badass Ryan Haywood, Bank Robbery, Blow Job, Danger, Dom Ryan Haywood, Dom/sub, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Fear, Fingering, Guns, Heist, Love, Oral Sex, Protective Ryan Haywood, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Robbery, Sex, Teasing, Theft, Vaginal Sex, Violence, achievement hunter - Freeform, ryan - Freeform, ryan haywood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 20,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacButton/pseuds/MacButton
Summary: As a young, inexperienced criminal in Los Santos, you're itching to explore the exciting world of high-value heists. When you cross paths with the Fake AH Crew, however, your meddle is pushed further than you ever expected.





	1. Humble Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the glamorous world of heists! I'm dipping my toes into a new universe, with Vagabond/Ryan and reader at the center.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The convenience store’s door cracking joints echoed down the otherwise silent alleyway as you jimmied the crowbar in the frame. It was a simple snatch and grab tonight. You had moved to Los Santos a few years ago, and, although you had a day job, it wasn’t enough to pay all of your bills. So, you decided to put some of your old talents to good use.

It didn’t take much pressure to breach the door. The store you were raiding wasn’t a high end establishment, by any means. In fact, you expected to only get a few hundred dollars from tonight’s efforts, but figured it was worth walking the extra few blocks. 

The door finally gave way, and you pulled the broken panel toward you. Stepping over the threshold, you went straight for the register, opening it and collecting the small amount of cash inside. 

_They really should invest in an alarm system._

You didn’t have the support to pull off any larger jobs, so you were doomed to work during the day and collect your pension early from unwilling business owners at night. You stuffed the money into your pockets and walked around the store, pulling any other provisions you needed from the shelves. 

As you left, you tore open the wrapper of a candy bar and ate it casually, making your way out the same way you entered. You strolled to the end of the alley and pulled your hood down once you rounded the corner. The street was relatively quiet since it was early in the morning, yet you needn’t fear any would-be assailants with a crowbar at the ready. Still, you kept your head low to avoid any eye contact.

Abruptly, a shop alarm rang out nearby, and you stepped back to the corner of a building, holding your heart from the scare. You looked around for the source and found a jewelry store across the street. The glass window was broken and there was a scurry of movement inside. 

Someone was robbing the store right in front of you. 

You crouched down and pulled your hood back up, for safety. You knew you should have ran, but you couldn’t. You watched some of the masked men grab at all of the jewels they could and shove them into small bags, while another called out the countdown for the police response time. They all moved so deliberately; a sort of controlled chaos to their method. 

You bit your lip as the police sirens grew louder. Still, you stayed in place. It was as though you were getting a contact high from watching the crew. One of them shouted, and all immediately stopped collecting, stepped through the broken glass, and into a getaway car that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

It was a dangerous prospect, but you watched each of their faces as they left. All of them seemed to have nondescript masks, save for one. The tallest member of the crew had a custom, black skull mask. In fact, if it weren’t for the incoming illumination from the police lights, you wouldn’t have noticed he was there. 

Immediately, the man in the skull mask shot his rifle at a police cruiser down the street, hitting the passenger and killing him instantly. He continued his assault, killing at least four more officers before another member of his crew shouted.

“Vagabond!” 

The man in the skull mask looked up and down the street before looking across the street to where you were crouched. You were fairly certain he couldn’t see you in the relative darkness, but you swore he stared you directly in the eyes before getting in the vehicle. 

As quickly as it all began, it was over. The crew was gone with a flurry of police cruisers following in their wake. You slowly stood from your crouched position. You lowered your hood once more and kept walking toward your apartment, this time with a hurried pace.


	2. Daily Grind

You laid in your small bed, staring at the ceiling endlessly. Sleep, once again, evaded you tonight. However, tonight you were caught in a stupor you didn’t think you would ever feel: you wanted to be part of a crew. Bigger jobs that pulled in more money required a crew, certainly, but you were after something less tangible.

You wanted more thrills. 

You unlocked your phone and searched the local headlines for any information regarding the latest robberies. You didn’t know which crew were the culprits for tonight’s job, but they must have been seen or reported with some kind of calling card. 

Scanning, you found much of the same story, when it came to high value heists: black masks, dark clothes, nondescript getaway vehicles. You hit a dead end, and, honestly, you didn’t know what you expected. 

Defeated, you reluctantly slunk out of bed and tossed your phone against the mattress. Your thrills would have to give way to your mundane life for another day. 

-

You leaned against the counter in front of you for what must have been the tenth time this hour. You glanced around the lobby at the thin spread of customers and back to your lockbox of cash. It was ironic, really, being this close to a windfall of cash, yet having no way to abscond it. 

The doorbell rang repeatedly as a collection of men walked in. You lazily glanced up at the group and eyed them over. They all were wearing dark clothes and were adorning their masks at the door before you could catch their faces. 

_We’re getting robbed._

“Everyone on the floor!” one man shouted. “This is a robbery!”

_Well, no shit._

One of the robbers made his way to the teller windows and waved his gun down the line at each of you. 

“Hands up, or you’re dead!” he commanded. 

You straightened up your posture and immediately raised your arms in the air, just as the others followed suit. You held your breath, eyes wide as you scanned the rest of the invaders. All had varying degrees of plain black masks, save for one: the menacing black skull mask. 

_This was the Fake AH Crew._

Your heartbeat pumped faster as you watched the crew take control of the bank. They all moved with purpose; each member taking on a specific task, just as you had seen at the jewelry store. But now, you got a front row seat to view their heist skills. That, and you got a closer view of the one they called “Vagabond” the other night. 

He was a tall guy, to say the least. He hovered around the group of bank customers -- now hostages -- on the floor, making sure none of them made any moves for the door. The gun he carried was massive compared to the rest of the crew. In fact, you wondered why he’d need a gun that could blast through concrete in a bank heist, but, with as distinctive of a mask as he donned, he probably treated every job as a show. 

“Hey! Wake up!” 

A hand slamming against the window startled you out of concentration. You met the eyes of one of the robbers, holding open a bag. 

“Pass all of the money in your drawer through! Now!” he commanded through a thick British accent. 

You immediately opened your cash box and emptied the contents over the counter and into the man’s bag. It wasn’t much, and they weren’t even trying to get into the safe. So what was this for? Practice? A crew this notorious didn’t need petty cash to keep the lights on. 

“Thank you, doll!” the man chimed, pointing his gun at you as he moved to the next window. 

You looked back to Vagabond, who was slowly scanning the room, gun casually at his hip pointed in front of him. His posture seemed at ease for the high profile nature of the situation. You couldn’t get a read of his face because of his mask, but you imagined he was just as cool-natured underneath. 

He turned in your direction, the pair of you catching eyes. You smiled and immediately blushed, embarrassed. To your surprise, he made his way over to your teller window. You kept your hands in the air, but he leaned his gun against his shoulder nonchalantly. 

“Hi,” he greeted through his mask.

“Hi,” you returned, nervously, getting a closer look at his oversized weapon. 

He looked at it, as well, and laid it on the counter between you both, keeping it in his grip. 

“Ever seen one this big?” he asked coyly. You imagined him smiling underneath the mask. 

You smirked and joked, “Is that you trying to compensate for something?”

He laughed and continued, “My name’s Vagabond. What’s yours?”

You tilted your head playfully, “Does it really matter?”

“Well, I am robbing you,” he shrugged. 

“Robbing me of my money or my identity?” You jested. 

He laughed behind his mask and threw his gun over his shoulder. 

“You've got moxie,” he said while turning back to the fray, “I like that.”

“Let's move!” The leader said, looking up from his watch. 

Each member walked away with a large duffel bag filled with cash, moving quickly between the customers strewn out on the floor. Vagabond followed, turning back toward you before he left. 

“I'll see you around.”

They got in their getaway vehicle and sped away in a blaze.


	3. Hush Money

By the time the police finished their interviews and investigation, it was well passed the evening hour. Needless to say, your intriguing conversation with one of the criminals had you under more scrutiny than the rest of the employees. You were exhausted, so you headed straight home for much needed relaxation. You changed into your sneakers and adjusted your hoodie, zipping it up to make the trek to your apartment. 

You hadn’t made it more than a few blocks when a muscle car’s engine rumbled next to you, drawing your attention. It slowed to keep pace with your steps and the window of the driver’s side rolled down. 

Little to your surprise, it was Vagabond. 

“Hey there, Moxie,” a teasing, low tone behind his still-masked face. “Rough day? You look like you were held at gunpoint, or something.”

You smiled and turned to address him directly, keeping the distance between you two. 

“Yeah, some jackass nearly blew my head off, but I scared him away. You should have seen him run.” 

Vagabond laughed and stopped the car, putting it in park. He opened the door and stepped out, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the frame. 

The show-off looked like one of the popular kids hanging out in the parking lot, albeit, with a terrifying skull mask hiding his face. 

“Get in,” he motioned. “I'll give you a ride home.” 

“Get in a car with a _dangerous_ criminal like you? You must be crazy,” you teased and started to walk away. “I'll pass.”

“I know you didn't rat us out,” he called to you. “My crew is willing to pay you for your continued cooperation.”

_Well, well, well._

You stopped and turned on your heel and tried to seem slightly intrigued rather than overwhelmingly eager for the pay out. Besides, you weren't terrible at negotiating.

“Oh, is that so, Mr. Vagabond,” you considered, crossing your arms and stepping to the curb before him so you were still eye level. “And about how much did your crew think my silence was worth?”

You kept a locked gaze with his icy blue eyes beneath the dark mask. He tilted his head and readjusted his stance, likely thinking of a number on the fly. 

“One thousand,” he bluffed. 

_Low ball._

You shook your head, “Not good enough. Five thousand.”

It was Vagabond's turn to shake his head in disbelief, “Two thousand, and I'm being nice.”

_Getting there._

You tapped your finger on your chin and thought for a moment, building up the tension.   
“Thirty-five Hundred,” you countered. “Give me a little breathing room for rent.”

“Three Grand, and I don't kill you,” he chuckled and pointed to the shotgun sitting in his seat behind him. 

_Sold._

“Alright, Vagabond,” you said, extending your hand for a shake, “Three Thousand and you give me a ride home.”

He took your hand firmly with a grave-sounding chuckle, making you a little uneasy. 

“And, you know-” you continued. “Don't kill me.”

“Deal.” 

Vagabond pulled you to him catching you against his chest and swiftly opening the car door, pointing you inside. 

“Let's go.”

You furrowed your brow, confused. 

“I thought we had a deal?” you asked. 

“Oh we do,” he assured, pushing you over the driver's side to sit in the passenger seat. “We've gotta get it from one of my safehouses. You didn't think I drove back to the scene of the crime with the money, did you?”

_No, but you did with the mask._

Vagabond climbed in behind you, and closed the door, and, suddenly, you aware you were in a car with a masked murderer. 

“Y-you know,” you stammered, looking for your courage. “I shouldn't really be getting into cars with strangers.”

He turned to look at you, his mask seeming even creepier up close and under the cover of darkness. 

“Buckle up.”


	4. A Proposition

After driving in relative silence most of the way, Vagabond turned the corner down a dead end alley. He put the car in park and turned to you. 

“Ready?” He asked, chipper.

“Oh, definitely,” you lied.

_I'm going to die here._

With no other options, you followed Vagabond’s suit and exited the vehicle. Reluctantly, you followed him in the side door of one of the buildings and ascended countless flights of stairs. 

“Cool spot,” you said, out of breath. “Elevator must be broken, huh?”

“Nearly there,” Vagabond said with a chuckle. 

You got to the ninth floor landing and followed him to the end of the hallway. He pounded on the door with a closed fist and waited. After some brief commotion on the other side of the door, it swung open and you were both greeted by an angry voice. 

“Jesus Christ, dude, I didn't think you were actually serious!” 

You both stepped in, you stopping in the entryway while the pair continued. 

“I told you _exactly_ what I was doing. Why are you so shocked? Vagabond asked. 

Another voice sounded out from the main room, “It's true, the guy gets his mind set on something, and he follows through.”

“Still, now we actually have to pay the broad!” The first man argued. “Who knows how much the idiot promised!”

“Three Thousand,” Vagabond confirmed. He turned to look at you, “and a ride home.”

You stumbled inside, stepping to the edge of the room and finished, “I believe the third stipulation was that I wasn't to be killed, either.”

Once you cleared the room, you were surprised at how wonderfully decorated it was in comparison to the deteriorating look of the building’s facade. A large sofa and chairs, lengthy dining table littered with papers, blueprints, and, of course, guns.

There you stood among the Fake AH Crew, their faces bare for your eyes to behold. You quickly looked away. You were wise to the game, and didn't want any more trouble than you were already in. 

“So I'll just take what I came for and be on my merry way,” you said, looking at your feet with interest. 

“Don't want to stick around for a while?” Vagabond asked, suddenly beside you. 

“Listen,” you continued, still looking at the floor, “I'm a big fan of your crew's work. I appreciate the payout, God knows I could use the money, but I'd rather not get gutted over three grand. If you want me to walk, you can just ask me to leave; I'll leave, no questions asked.”

You waited for an answer, but heard none. Afraid to actually see anyone's faces, you kept your eyes low and scanned your periphery to detect any movement, including Vagabond, who was still beside you. 

“How would you like a job?” A new voice asked. 

Your eyes bulged, head still down. 

“You're kidding, right?” You asked. 

“Nope, dead serious,” the voice continued. “But before you're with us, you've gotta prove your worth. First of all -- oh for Christ's sake, would you look up at me? I'm not gonna talk to the top of your head all night.”

You looked up and met the eyes of an older gentleman, a tired look on his face. 

“I'm Geoff,” he said, directly. He continued by pointing around the room introducing the rest of the group, “Jack, Michael, Gavin. And I’m assuming you know this psycho, already.”

“Vagabond,” he quickly said. 

“Uh, yeah. He and I are-” you motioned to him with your thumb as you paused, searching for the right nomenclature, “Acquaintances?”

“Right-” Geoff redirected, “Do you have any experience with high value heists?” 

You shifted your weight nervously and quickly thought of a believable lie. 

“Oh, sure, I pulled off a couple with a crew I used to roll with,” you nodded, hoping to seal the lie. 

“Good,” Geoff nodded and walked over to the table, stepping behind it and putting his hands on some blueprints. “Well, before we let you in on the large scores, you’ll have to prove your mettle on a few small-time jobs.” 

You gulped, nervously as Geoff explained. 

“We’re going to send you in to hit a convenience store in the Valley, first. Something quick and simple. We’ll send you in with,” Geoff cleared his throat noticeably, “Vagabond.”

You turned your head to meet his always-grinning mask, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. 

“What kind of operation would you prefer?” you asked politely. It was their job, after all. 

Geoff shrugged, “You’ll figure out what’s best. Impress us.”

Next, Geoff pulled out a file containing some papers and photographs of a heavyset man. 

“After you’ve wow’ed us with your small-time prowess, you can help us settle a score with another problematic associate,” he uttered, smacking the photograph with annoyance. “But we’ll get to that, soon enough. For now, just keep going with your daily routine. Vagabond will let you know when it’s time to roll.”

“Heads up,” Michael called out to you, tossing you a rolled up collection of bills. 

You didn’t think it was appropriate to count the cash in front of them; you’d have to take their word for it. Besides, that was no way to treat a brand new employer. 

“Thanks,” you said, nonchalantly. “And thanks for this opportunity, Geoff.”

You started for the door, backing away until you were at the hall, then turning on your heel to continue, making your way out the door and to the stairwell. There were a thump of footsteps behind you, so you looked over your shoulder to see Vagabond. 

“Did you need something?” You asked, still wary of the situation. 

“I need to keep my end of the bargain. I'll give you a ride home.”


	5. First Gig

The pair of you climbed into his car once more, and he backed out of the alley. 

“This way,” you pointed. “Vermont and Lexington.”

He obliged and started the journey. You gripped the roll of money in your pocket as though it was burning a hole in your hoodie. As you neared your neighborhood, he finally chimed in.

“Shitty part of town,” he criticized, looking around.

You looked at the sad state of the area and agreed, “Yeah, but it's cheap.”

“Hard times, huh?” He asked as he pulled up to the corner building.

“Uh huh,” you said without giving further detail. 

He put the car in park, and you hastily opened the door, itching to get to the safety of your apartment building. 

“I'll be in touch,” he called out.

“Looking forward to it,” you responded, giving him the thumbs up.

You shut the door on your conversational clumsiness and practically ran to your apartment.

-

Days went by without any correspondence. You stuck to your normal routine, save for looting any local establishments, as now you had some financial cushion for your silence. 

In the late evening, you were sitting in your apartment, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the buzzer sounded. 

“Hey, Moxie,” the voice called out. 

You recognized the dark tone immediately and jumped up from your chair, dropping your phone in the cushions haphazardly. You rushed to the intercom and adjusted your stance to sound as nonchalant as you could given your enthusiasm. 

“Hey, what's up?” You stumbled through a casual greeting as though it was your first social interaction. 

“Pack up, we've got work to do. Meet me down here in ten minutes,” he simply instructed. 

“Got it,” you said and hurried to get ready. 

You stuffed your keys and your phone in your pocket, before rushing from the apartment and down the stairs. You opened the outer door to see Vagabond, adorning a different mask. 

“Shit, man,” you held your hand over your heart in shock. “Do you always wear a mask?” 

You followed him to his car, getting in while he went around the opposite side. 

“No, not all of the time,” he conceded. “But we’re gonna need it tonight.”

The car roared to life and you took off just as you found your seat. 

“Aren't you worried wearing a mask already will raise suspicion?” You asked, diverting the target.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not in this part of town.”

You drummed your fingers against the window while Vagabond continued. 

“Tonight, we're going to hit the convenience store on the corner, up here,” he pointed as you drove passed. 

You looked over the small building. It didn't look like a challenge, whatsoever, really. In fact, you probably could turn it over on your own. However, you knew this was a test to how well you worked with a partner, so you adapted. 

“So how do you want to play it?” You asked. 

He shrugged, “I'm usually the muscle. Why don't you decide the angle.”

You bit your lip, considering the options as Vagabond turned the corner a block away, driving around to kill time. 

You thought out loud, “Well, if you want the maximum payout, which isn't going to be much, from the looks of it,” you warned, shooting him a glance, “then we'll have to go in before closing. We'll need someone with the safe combination. Unless you have cutting torch on you.”

He shook his head. “Nothing but the mask on my face, Moxie.”

You looked in the backseat at a sawed-off shotgun and back at Vagabond.

“Oh. And that,” he relented.

“Well that settles it, then. Let's go at the end of the shift. Hopefully less of a need for crowd control,” you said, cracking your knuckles. 

Vagabond parked the car in an empty lot a few blocks away, and turned off the engine. You sat in silence for a short period of time before it became uneasy. 

“So,” you started. “Do I get a gun?”

Vagabond turned and looked at you returning the question, “Do you not have a gun of your own?” 

You shook your head, somewhat embarrassed considering your intentions tonight and what you had built up to Geoff and the rest of the crew. 

“Hmm,” he said. “We'll have to change that. Unfortunately, I don't have one to spare, tonight; I packed light.”

“And if things head south?” You asked. 

“Stick close to me, I'll make sure you don't die at the hands of some would-be hero,” he chuckled. 

Vagabond reached in front of you and opened the glove compartment, revealing another black mask, as well as an errant soda. 

“Take it,” he said, throwing the mask on your lap. 

He took the soda and popped the top. You slipped the mask over your face. It was stuffy and ill fitting, but it would have to do. 

“Look!” You turned to Vagabond and mocked. “I'm you!’”

He laughed and leaned back in his seat.

You took it off so you could breathe again, flipping your hair back to really look at your new disguise. 

“It's tough to breathe in there,” you remarked. “How do you do it?”

“Years and years of practice,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink through his mask. 

_Damn, he wasn't joking._

“So, how long have you been in Los Santos?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“A couple years,” you responded, trailing off while you glanced around the ghostly parking lot. “Not much left for me where I came from, so why not start in a big city.”

He nodded, “I can see the appeal. Lots of excitement around here.” 

He downed the rest of the beverage and tossed the can out of the window. 

“So you came here alone because you were looking for adventure?” he asked turning to face you. 

You shrugged. It sounded lame now that you heard it coming from someone else. 

“And your daily grind wasn’t doing it for you, huh? That’s why you flirt with criminals on the side?” he joked. 

You blushed at the mention of flirting. 

“I-I guess,” you yielded. “But to be fair, you did flirt with a hostage while on a job. Quite unprofessional, if you ask me.”

Vagabond chuckled and reached in the back seat, producing the shotgun. He laid it over his lap and took the keys out of the ignition. 

“My lack of decorum got you a job, Mox,” he said. “Speaking of, are you ready to go?”

You looked down at your watch: 10:54 p.m. It was just about time to prove your worth to Vagabond and the rest of the Fake AH Crew. 

“Ready, willing, and able, Vagabond,” you said with an uneasy sigh, slipping your mask on, once more. 

He nudged your arm, “For the record, you look better without the mask.”


	6. Armed and Dangerous

Half of a block away, you started feeling jitters. Sure, it wasn't the first time you turned over a store, but it was the first time you robbed a placed staffed with employees. 

“Waiting for your mark, Moxie,” Vagabond uttered in a hushed tone as you approached the door. 

“Good cop, bad cop,” you suggested. 

Vagabond pointed to himself, “Can I be the bad cop?”

You smiled beneath your mask, but stuck with the serious tone, “Go in loud and I'll talk them down.” 

Vagabond nodded, pulled the shotgun from his hip, and pushed open the door. 

“Get down on the ground!” He bellowed so loudly, it made you jump. 

He cocked the gun and pointed it at the poor kid behind the counter. His hands shot into the air and started shaking. 

“T-take what you want! Please don't shoot!” He squeaked. 

You took a deep breath and stepped beside Vagabond. 

“Where is the manager?!” You ordered sternly, slamming your hands on the counter. 

The kid grimaced at your anger, “I-I am!”

“Open the safe!” You quickly demanded. 

Immediately, he bent down, reaching to fumble with the dial. You leaned over the counter to watch him, ensuring he wasn't taking the opportunity to call for help. 

The guy was shaking like a leaf, and you almost felt sorry for him. You looked over your shoulder to see what Vagabond was doing. Steadfast in his character, he motioned with the barrel of his gun back at the hostage, directing you to do the same. 

You turned back around and held the edge of the counter.

“Look, man,” you started, “You don't have to be afra--” 

The words caught in your throat when you found yourself staring down the barrel of his 9mm pistol. You froze; your eyes wide with fear. 

Before you could react, Vagabond grabbed your sweatshirt and pulled you backward. You toppled on the ground behind him, knocking over nearby displays. You sat there, stunned while he took control of the situation. 

He yanked the gun from the kid's hands with great force, unafraid of the immediate danger. He held it behind him, offering it to you. You looked up at Vagabond, unsure of what to do. He shook the weapon, hastily.

“A present for you, doll,” he said. You took it quickly and rose once more. You stood next to him, stealing a quick glance before you turned the gun on the clerk. 

“Don't say I never got you anything nice,” he remarked before addressing the hostage. “I believe you were opening the safe.”

He nudged your arm, expectantly. You loaded the chamber and took a deep breath. 

“Open the fucking safe, now!” You shouted. Funny how you became the bad cop in a snap.

Vagabond pointed his shotgun down with you as the man continued his previous work. It didn't take long for him to pop it open, and, just as quickly, you hopped over the counter and knelt down to collect the stacks of loot. 

Your partner in crime tossed you a small duffel, to which you started filling. Once the money was secured, Vagabond jumped over to meet you for escape. He shoved the clerk to the floor, and you opened the door to the back.

You wove through stacks of boxes before finding the back door, but you soon were in the open air and sprinting in the direction of Vagabond's car. You tore open the passenger door, while he got in the driver's seat, turning the car on and slamming it in gear, speeding out of the parking lot.


	7. Named Assailant

When you were a few blocks away, you ripped off your mask and gulped fresh air. You listened for any sirens, but didn't hear any. Vagabond kept pace with traffic, hopping on the freeway, and taking an exit a few miles later. You were still downtown, you recognized the path as that toward the safehouse you had previously visited. 

Vagabond parked the car in the alley, and you both made the trek up the stairs. Your adrenaline wearing thin as you made the breathtaking ascent. He unlocked the door, and you stepped through, Vagabond leading the way to the living room. 

You dropped the duffel and leaned against the couch. You were mentally and physically exhausted, but you didn't want to take any liberties with relaxation. Vagabond walked in the kitchen, laying his shotgun on the countertop and opened the fridge.

“You want a beer?” He called out, over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, sure,” you answered with a deep sigh.

You looked down and realized you were still holding the pistol in your hand. All of a sudden, it felt heavy. You laid it gently on a side table and wiped your hand down your pant leg. 

Vagabond entered the room with your beverages when you rid yourself of the gun. He handed you the bottle and chuckled. 

“Not a fan of guns?” He asked sitting on the large sofa you leaned against. 

You took a gulp and shook your head, “Not really,” you admitted. “I'm used to pulling jobs that don't require firepower.”

He took a long drink through his mask. The room fell silent as you both decompressed. You pushed your hair back out of your eyes with nervousness as you turned to him. 

“Hey,” you started, trying to hide the anxiety in your voice. “Thanks for-- you know-- your _help_ tonight. I don't know what I was thinking.”

He put his hand up to silence you. 

“Don't mention it, Moxie. If we're gonna be partners, we've gotta look out for each other.” 

You blinked at his kindness, momentarily stunned that a calculated killer could feel loyalty, especially to you. 

He must have seen the confusion of your face, for he continued, “That means making sure you don't die, at least, not by some punk kid in a convenience store.” You laughed at his attempt at humor and fed into the vibe.

You took another gulp of the beer and nudged his arm, “You know, you can take your mask off, now. We're in the clear.”

“Oh, but that would take away all of the mystery, don't you think?” He asked. “Besides, I like to think you'll go home tonight and lay awake, wondering what your brave savior really looks like.” He clinked his bottle against yours and you chuckled. 

_He's got that right._

The door opened and Geoff and the rest of the crew came barging in.

“So, how'd it go?” Geoff asked, excitedly. 

“Well--” you began, but Vagabond interrupted you. 

“Smooth as silk,” he said. “Moxie can hold her own.” 

You shrugged and took a drink while they exchanged words as though you weren't in the room. 

“Yeah?” Geoff asked, taking initiative and opening a beer. 

Vagabond tapped the bottom of his bottle against your thigh. “She's quite the firecracker. You should have heard her; the kid was shaking.”

“No shit,” Geoff said, surprised. “I've gotta be honest, Moxie, I didn't really peg you for the theft sort, but Vagabond sure knows how to spot 'em.” You blushed and took another drink to avoid the embarrassment. 

The rest of the crew found seats to relax, as well, not paying the conversation much mind. In fact, everyone looked pretty exhausted. 

“Well, you'd better get some rest,” Geoff said. “R--” he stopped himself. “ _Vagabond_ will take you home.” 

You snapped to look at your new boss, but didn’t bother wasting your breath on the question. Vagabond sat his beer on the table, and you did the same. You exchanged pleasantries with the crew and bid them good night. As you descended the stairs, you eyed Vagabond with a new interest.

“If you won't show me your face, will you at least tell me your real name?” You pried. 

You spent more time with this character than anyone else in recent months, and you had a feeling it was only the beginning. 

He didn't look back, but answered, “Not yet.” 

You bit your lip with consideration. 

“Alright,” you continued. “Don't wanna tell me? That's alright. How about I guess your name?”

Vagabond stopped as you reached the landing to the back alley and thought it over. 

“Sure, why not,” he agreed. “Shoot, Moxie.”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as you both climbed into the car, and Vagabond backed out of the alley slowly. 

“Hmm… Rob?” you asked, looking a him. He shook his head. “Richard?” He chuckled this time, and you looked at him quizzically. 

“I’m just imagining a guy in my line of work with the name Richard,” he answered. “It’s just funny.” 

You guessed a few more names, but with no luck. You threw your hands up in the air and huffed. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to be partners with a masked, nameless criminal.”

He turned the car off and followed you into your apartment building, surprisingly, ensuring you made it through the lobby. You yanked open the stairway door angrily and marched up the few flights. You made it to your front door, fumbling with your keys to unlock it. 

Catching you off guard, Vagabond said your name. Not your silly nickname, but your real name. 

You turned with surprise to see him in your hall, stepping closer and stopping inches from you. You backed into the door, as instinct, but he closed the space, putting one hand behind you, effectively blocking you in.

He held a business card between his fingers and offered it to you. This close, you could see the details in his eyes. They were a brighter shade of blue than you had originally thought. You also had a better gauge of his build. Tall and muscular, even with his leather jacket on. He shook the card, and, this time, you took it from him, breaking eye contact to glance at it. 

“My name’s Ryan,” he said. Your eyes snapped back to his, and you raised your eyebrow. 

“Ryan,” you repeated with a smirk. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He backed away and tapped the card you were holding. 

“Call me,” he instructed. He touched the number on the door to your apartment. “Or else I’ll make a house call.”

With that, he backed away, turning to make his way down the hall and to the stairwell. You shivered at the deep, quiet voice he used, shaken by his dangerous tone. After a period, you looked down at the digits on the business card and smiled.

It was time you learned more about your new partner in crime.


	8. House Call

The next day was the start of your weekend, thankfully, so you took the time to exercise. Running gave you time to think, and you had a lot of thinking to do. 

One of the questions on your list was why Vagabond - Ryan - was so eager to bring you on board the crew. You were a perfect stranger, yet he picked you out of a crowd of hostages to join the ranks? Suspect. 

Another was why he insisted on keeping his mask on if the rest of the crew exposed their faces to you on day one. Was it really for the mystery, or another reason? 

Next, who was in the photograph Geoff flashed to you and why did he want you to help if they had no clue regarding your thieving background? 

Finally, you wondered what his end goal was, regarding you. He seemed friendly and normal - at least, as normal as a guy in his area of work could be - yet he kept a hold on his “Vagabond” persona, but why? You shook your head when you recalled him looming over you, the previous night. 

_Best not think of him that way._

You looked down at your watch and realized you had been jogging for a few hours. Back in your apartment with few answers, you looked down at the business card with Ryan's number on it, laid atop your nightstand along with your cell phone. You tapped the screen, but it didn't illuminate. 

Dead battery.

You sighed and plugged it in, giving in to fate and let it charge while you peeled out of your clothes. You walked into your bathroom and started the shower, stepping in after the water warmed. 

You washed yourself, quickly, and dried just the same, throwing on comfortable clothes. You dried your hair and flopped onto your bed, the earlier activity finally catching up with you, as your eyes drifted closed.

-

You awoke hours later, the dim light of twilight peeking through your blinds. You stretched luxuriously and sat up, rubbing your eyes to adjust to the dim room. 

Blinking, you swung your legs out of bed and turned your phone on. You waited for it to start up and, while it did, you walked to the kitchen for a drink. The refrigerator light was bright, but you found a bottle of water and gulped it eagerly. 

A creak in the floor had you turning around quickly in the direction you just came. 

Nothing. 

You shrugged it off and drank again, but, now, you were hypersensitive to any small sound in your apartment. You stepped to your window and looked down at the street, passed your own reflection. It was quiet tonight. Quieter than usual. 

When you looked up again at your reflection, you weren't alone. 

Before you could scream, a man's hand clamped around your mouth to stifle the noise. Your hands shot to the assailant’s forearm, but he gripped you tightly, wrapping his other arm around your chest to hold your shoulder, effectively limiting your mobility. 

You bucked, but he didn't budge. His chest was like a concrete wall, immovable and broad. Shifting your approach, you put your feet against the window sill and pushed with all of your might. He stumbled backward, but didn't release you. 

“I warned you about not calling me.”

He slowly released his hold of you as you realized it was Vagabond. Once you found your footing, you didn't waste any time hitting him mercilessly. He laughed and caught your wrists, constraining you from further fight. 

“You asshole!” You shouted at his all-to-familiar skull mask. “You scared me half to death!” 

He let go of your wrists, and, to your surprise, brought you in a tight embrace. You pulled away after a moment and looked at him with interest. 

“Sorry for the scare,” he said, “I thought about knocking on your door, but then I thought, 'Where’s the fun in that?’” 

You imagined his smug face underneath the mask and hit his arm again. You were so shaken by the greeting, you had forgotten his terrifying background. He didn't mind and took your assault like a champ. 

“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “get ready, we're meeting at the safehouse for a briefing. It's time you tagged along on a real job.” 

Your eyes widened. “Really?” You didn't want to sound too eager, but your heart thumped in your chest at the building anxiety. 

“I'll--” you stammered as you picked up the fallen bottle of water at your feet. “I'll go get my things.” 

You started to your closet and swing open the door, finding a pair of jeans and a comfortable hoodie in the front. Just as soon as you turned toward the bathroom door, Vagabond stopped you. 

“One more thing,” he said, making you turn on your heel just before you left the room. 

“Do you own a dress?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vagabond Ryan is such a creep.


	9. Drawing Plans

Backpack of clothes and one garment bag later, you were riding with Vagabond to the gang’s safehouse. You arrived at the building, and he took your backpack from the seat between you two. By this time, you were already familiar with the path. Once you got to the ninth floor, however, you fell back and let Vagabond lead the way. 

He pounded on the door with a closed fist and waited. This time, Geoff answered the door, swinging it open without fear. 

“Moxie,” Geoff said with a smile. “Glad you could make it.” 

He left the entryway and walked down the hall, prompting the two of you to follow. Vagabond gripped your backpack by the top and propped it against the wall. When you entered the living room, you weren’t surprised to find the entire crew waiting. You greeted each of them individually and tried your best to seem casual. 

“All right,” Geoff began. “If everyone’s ready, we can get started.” 

The crew stopped what they were doing and headed toward a room adjacent to the living room. It featured a conference-length table surrounded with chairs. You found a spot after the others sat down. Geoff stood at the head of the table with a variety of file folders lying before him. 

“Alright. You all know this fat fuck,” he said to the crew and motioning to a photograph of a large man. “But since we have a new member, I’ll go through introductions: This is Big Dutch.” 

He tossed the photograph and it landed before you with a slap. You looked at the candid with interest. He certainly was a large guy; in this photograph, he was dressed in a business outfit, complete with oversized jewelry, and his stubby fingers clutched a cell phone. There were two, tall bodyguards nearby dressed in black, looking off in either direction. 

Personally, you had never seen this man or any of the cohorts in the photograph before. He looked like a boss-type character; one who runs a few neighborhoods. Geoff spread out some more documents and continued. 

“He is the _current_ crime boss of much of Los Santos, taking over after the Milano family fell out.” 

“The bitch got lucky,” Michael said. “If _we_ had been here five years ago, we would have been running this fucking city, by now.” 

Geoff tossed you a list of buildings and other asset holdings. 

“That is his empire. The prick gets his grubby hands on more and more each day.”

You quickly sifted through the multitude of pages and shrugged.

“So, you’re trying to run him out of town? Take over?” You concluded from the evidence. 

Geoff looked around at his counterparts, all of whom had varying expressions of anger boiling to the top. He clenched his fists, resting on them before looking up from the files. 

“Contacts, informants, properties, assets--” he answered, trailing off. “He stole millions from us.”

“He's going to pay for a lot more than that,” Vagabond said with a tone so grave, it nearly made you shudder. 

“He pulled the rug out on our hard work years ago,” Geoff explained. 

“When he screwed us over, we had to leave Los Santos. It was bad,” Jack explained. 

“I’m gonna gut the fuck,” Michael eloquently grumbled.

You laid the papers down and sat back in your chair, somewhat confused. 

“Why bring me in?” You asked. It was clear to you this was a scheme of vengeance and one best left to those wronged. Geoff pointed at the list again.

“On that list is the First Los Santos National Bank,” he explained. 

You snatched the list and scanned it again, finding the name of the bank that employed you as Geoff continued. 

“He has money dumped in that bank, and the manager is an employee of his.” The rest of the crew eyed you, expectedly. 

Your eyes widened as you defended yourself, “Listen, I'm not sure who you think I am, but I don't have that kind of clout at the bank. I'm a God damned teller.” 

Geoff held up his hand to quelch your panic.“You may not rub elbows with management, but you're a legitimate employee without a criminal history on record. That goes a long way. But that's not what we're concerned with tonight.”

Geoff turned away and motioned to the whiteboard behind him. Taped on it were photographs of a nightclub. 

“This is Dutch’s club. A lot of his drug business runs through here,” Geoff continued. “Tonight, we're not worried about interrupting the traffic. We're only there for the manager.” 

“The manager?” Gavin asked. 

_Good. You were glad you weren't the only one in the dark on what was going on._

“The manager of this club has the drop point and time of Dutch’s incoming shipments on a laptop in the back office.” 

Geoff tapped the photograph that had the manager’s face, which you all studied closely. He was as thin as a tree, who looked as though he could be snapped in half by a strong wind. 

“Assignments,” Geoff said matter-of-factly. “Jack, you'll be driving the getaway van parked in the alley around the corner. I'll wait with you there.” Jack nodded in understanding. 

“Michael and Gavin will be the lookouts. Michael, you'll be on the roof here,” Geoff indicated a building across the street from the club. 

“Gav will be on this one here. If everything goes to plan, it'll be a quiet night for you both.” Geoff addressed you directly, “Now's where you come in.” 

You sat up in your chair with renewed attention. 

“You will be going in undercover to copy the files with Vagabond,” Geoff said with a smirk. “Now that we know you two work well together.”

You looked at Vagabond, who was already staring in your direction, but Geoff continued. 

“You’ll go in as patrons separately. Meet up, slip into the office, copy the files, and get out. We don't have a time limit on this one, but don't screw around. Any questions?”

Everyone was quiet. 

“Alright, let's get ready,” Geoff concluded. Michael and Gavin stood and went off together to prep, while Jack and Geoff looked over more of the files. You stood, not entirely certain what your duties entailed. Vagabond rose, as well. 

“C'mon,” he instructed. I'll show you where you can get changed.” 

You followed, grabbing your bag when you passed in the hall. He turned the corner and stopped at the doorway of a bedroom. 

“I need to lift another car. I’ll find you at the club,” he said as you walked passed him. 

“It’s a date,” you answered with a grin.

“Looking forward to it, Moxie,” he said with a smile in his voice. 

He left swiftly, so you closed the door to prepare for the evening.


	10. A New Look

You checked your hair again in the mirror, tossing it from side to side hoping for a different look with each flip. The dress you had stuffed in the back of your closet was more form fitting than you recalled, but it would have to fit the bill. You hadn't gotten this dressed up in some time, and your full-faced makeup seemed more like a mask than you originally expected. 

Regardless, you spent long enough admiring in the mirror and Ryan - Vagabond - was likely waiting. You stuffed your clothes into the bag and left them beside the bed, stepping through the door swiftly. Your heels clacked against the wood floor as you emerged in the living room.

You were greeted by whistles and other cat calls. You rolled your eyes and tried to hide a blush. Unsuccessful, you motioned with both hands toward yourself. 

“Alright, let's get it over with,” you sighed. 

“Damn, are you _sure_ she's good for this job, Geoff?” Michael asked. “She's gonna draw attention.” 

“She’ll do great,” Geoff confirmed, smiling at you. “Her face and Vagabond's face are the only ones not already made by Dutch’s goons. They'll handle it.” 

You narrowed your eyes as you put the pieces together, but kept quiet. 

“Ready to go? I’ll drop you off a few blocks away from the club,” Jack asked looking down at his phone. 

You nodded and tucked your clutch under your arm. Geoff walked alongside you to the door as Jack followed. Geoff opened it for you, but grabbed your forearm before you could head out. 

“When you find Vagabond, stick close to him. We’ll keep in contact with the both of you once you’re inside,” he assured. 

“Got it,” you agreed and smiled. “We’ll get it done.”


	11. The Club Job

The club was packed by the time you made it inside. The music was so loud, it made your chest thump with every beat. The lights were low, but every so often a bright flash would give you clarity. You weren’t sure where Vagabond was, so you worked your way to the bar to post up and scan the room. 

Playing into your role was critical, so you ordered a small cocktail and sipped it casually. The club was packed with people tonight, and you were nervous about picking Vagabond out of the extensive crowd. You brushed off a number of would-be creeps’ advances with smiles, but, after the fifth one in a matter of fifteen minutes, you were getting annoyed. 

Your highball was empty, and you were working on your second when another figure appeared beside you at the bar. You glanced over at the pest as he leaned closer to speak. 

“Hi there,” a familiar voice sounded. 

Your eyes widened and you snapped back to get a look at Vagabond’s face. You recognized his blue eyes, but the rest of his facial features were a surprise: he was attractive. He was wearing a simple black shirt and jeans, and he was holding a drink of his own. He smirked at your shock, and extended his hand. 

“I'm Ryan,” he introduced over the booming music. 

You gulped and looked down at the bar to regain your composure before returning the gesture. 

“Moxie,” you returned with a grin. 

His smile grew as he played into the role. 

“Unique name,” he complimented, sipping his beverage. 

“More of a nickname that stuck,” you responded. You couldn't keep your eyes off of his face. Now that you finally got to see it, you weren't sure if it was going to be a regular occurrence, so you admired him for the time you had.

He leaned in closer and spoke directly into your ear. 

“The office is in the back, passed the bathrooms. I have an idea how to get back there without being suspected. You're gonna want to finish that, though.” You nodded and waited for his cue.

“Wanna dance?” He asked. You blinked back to the game at hand. 

You gulped down your cocktail quickly and took his extended hand. He guided you through the crowd and to the dance floor with ease. Bumping into energetic partygoers made your anxiety skyrocket, but Ryan refused to break eye contact. 

He stopped when he found an opening on the opposite side of the room, taking your hand and wrapping it around his neck. He looped his hands around your waist and moved with the music, leading you along with the beat. 

You brought your other hand to his neck and held onto him, cautiously. You matched his movements, and he pulled you closer until you were flush against him. You lingered on a blink, taking the time to appreciate the feeling of his chest against your own. 

“You look gorgeous tonight,” Ryan breathed into your ear. 

You pulled back and met his eyes with surprise. Suddenly, you were warm. Perhaps from the liquor, dancing among a sweaty hoard, or maybe because of Ryan's gaze; either way, you were instantly embarrassed. Ryan brought his hand up under your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes, once more. A smile spread across his face as he licked his lips. 

Ryan leaned in with conviction and kissed you. 

You clung to him, instantly, falling into the affection as neither of you wanted to pull away. For a moment you forgot you were on a mission and it seemed like Ryan forgot, too. The club around you was a dull hum; your hearing focused on the thumping in your chest. 

His hand was firm as it wrapped around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair. He tilted your head back to break the kiss. His cheeks were flushed, yet he had the most confident, broad smile. 

You stared; helplessly fighting the developing feelings for the criminal named Vagabond. 

You crashed your lips against his in a deep kiss, closing your eyes in escape. You slipped your tongue in his mouth to taste him while he returned with enthusiasm. The vibrations in his chest rumbled as he moaned in the kiss, sending a wave of heat surging between your legs. 

Ryan kissed you as though you were the only ones in the club. You moved your hands across his chest and to his shoulders, feeling blindly at the broad canvas. He was wildly talented with his tongue, and you were happy to let him take control. 

Ryan created space between you and, without speaking, took your hand to lead you to the back. After weaving through the lines, he found some clearance and shoved you against the wall roughly. 

Ryan's eyes were dark and mischievous as he manipulated your body. He laced his fingers in yours and pinned them above your head. Your chest heaved with anticipation while he towered over you. His lips found yours, and you were thrust into the excitement.

You could stay right there forever and be perfectly happy.

Without thinking, you moved against him, your body instinctively seeking friction while he took control of your mouth. You could feel the eagerness behind his jeans, and your desire to explore only grew. You felt him smile in the kiss. Ryan squeezed your hands and pulled away to speak in your ear. 

“Maybe another time, Moxie,” he said with a growl.

Rejected, but not deterred, you worked on his neck, sucking lightly to elicit small moans from Ryan. You worked your mouth up to his earlobe, kissing and licking as he kept you firmly pinned against the wall. He kissed the juncture between your neck and shoulder, working his way down with purposeful bites of affection.

Suddenly, you were left cold. You watched in shock as Ryan darted to the now-open office door, strangling the guard by the throat and shoving him back. 

You stumbled forward now that Ryan wasn't there to hold you up. Catching up with him, you watched as he quickly wrapped his bicep around the thug, struggling to keep him quiet. Just as swiftly, Ryan snapped his neck, carefully dropping the lifeless body to the ground. 

You were horrified, yet not given a chance to express your fears as Ryan brought you back to the task at hand. He produced your clutch safely tucked inside his jeans and offered it to you. 

“Get the flash drive, Moxie,” he ordered. He looked focused, but you were still reeling from the intimacy. 

“Moxie,” he said, sternly. “C'mon we don't have much time before they come back.”

You shook your head and dug through your clutch, blinking your sobriety back to life. You found the prize and ran behind the desk. The laptop was still on; Ryan must have been watching the entire time for an opening. A lump of embarrassment welled in your throat while you searched through the file directory for anything that related to drop points.

You snapped the flash drive into the port and started copying a bevy of files to sort through later. Ryan stood at the door, his previously-concealed pistol now at the ready. 

“How are you doing, Mox?” Ryan asked without looking away. 

“Almost there,” you said quietly, finally focused on the job. You paused when you spotted a folder labeled “FAH.”

Interested, you clicked on it, revealing a multitude of documents related to the Fake AH Crew. Stealthily, you produced your back up flash drive and clicked it in the second port, copying the AH files for your own agenda. 

The AH Crew files finished first and, when the drop point files completed, you pulled both out simultaneously. You sprang from the desk and ran to Ryan, whose phone rang abruptly. 

“Yeah, we've got it,” he said, looking to you for confirmation. You gave him a thumbs up. He paused and looked down the hall with consideration. 

“We'll find a way out. Meet you in five.”


	12. Stealthy Escape

Ending the call and stuffing the device back in his pocket, Ryan turned the conversation back to you. 

“Things are tense outside. We'll need to get out of here without making too much noise,” he said. 

You bit your lower lip in thought, “There's always the fire alarm.” 

Ryan smiled and tucked his pistol in his waist band. He grabbed your hand and lead the way, using his elbow to break the glass and sound the alarm. It was earth shatteringly loud, even with the music. Once you pulled it, however, the commotion began and you slipped out with a crowd of hurried patrons. 

The sprinkler system erupted, and you gripped Ryan’s arm for stability as your heels slid on the waxed floor. You looked at your immediate surroundings, but didn’t see any shady characters; a good sign for your stealthy escape. 

After some doing, you finally made it outside. Ryan’s grip moved from your hand to around your shoulder, hugging you close as you kept your heads down. The whirl of sirens, police directing traffic and handling crowd control: it was complete chaos. Still, you hadn’t been spotted and the building wasn’t yet on lockdown. 

“This way,” Ryan said in a muffled tone, keeping a tight grip. 

Your ears were buzzing painfully from the audio assault. Each step of your heels against the concrete sounded as though you were drifting underwater. You looked up at him with concern, unsure of how to react. 

He gave you a hopeful smile as you crossed the street and turned the corner to the alley where Jack and Geoff awaited. The van was sitting in complete darkness, but roared to life when you neared. Ryan slid open the door and helped you inside, climbing in behind and settling next to you. Without wasting time, Jack pulled out of the alley, away from the commotion, and in the direction of the safe house. 

Geoff turned around and asked the obvious, “Did you get it?” 

You opened your clutch and produced one of the flash drives, keeping the other hidden beneath the other contents. Geoff grabbed it, tucked it in his jacket pocket, and called someone immediately. 

Ryan turned and smiled at you, lingering to study your face. A weak smile in return, you stuck your index finger on the side of your ear and wriggled it, hoping to knock whatever blockage out of your head. Ryan furrowed his brow at your pain, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

He looked adorable when he was filled with concern. 

“Moxie, can you hear me?” he asked loudly with worry. He held your shoulder and made you turn to face him. 

You nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Sure, it still sounded like there was molasses flowing between your ears, but you knew the buzzing would dissipate with time. Jack pulled into the alley next to the safehouse and placed the van in park. 

The four of you convened in the safehouse and waited for Gavin and Michael to join. Geoff, Jack, and Ryan went to the conference room to begin the file transfer. You took the time to get changed into more appropriate attire, reusing your previous outfit to relax. Finally sitting on the couch, you pressed your palms into the sides of your head to ward off a creeping headache. 

It was a brutal pace, it had only been a matter of weeks since you met the crew, and you were already run ragged. Cradling your head, you sighed. Where you'd fit in to the Crew was still a mystery, but you'd have to cross your fingers for any information on your secret flash drive. 

Thoughts of your heated session with Ryan reappeared, and you groaned with embarrassment. It was only a job, yet here you were developing a crush like a kid. It would only complicate things if you didn't let the whole interaction slide. 

You were in desperate need of a long night’s rest. Just then, Ryan settled next to you on the couch. 

“Hey,” he said softly. It felt good to hear a sound that wasn’t high pitched, for once this evening. 

“Hi,” you returned. 

It was painfully awkward as you both sat, unsure of how to address what happened. Thankfully, Ryan stuck to a different subject, entirely. 

“If you’d like, you can crash in the bedroom, here, for tonight. Probably best to stick close to the group in case something goes down,” he suggested.

You nodded, not looking up from your hands, “I’m wrecked.”

Standing, you held on tightly to your clutch, marched to the bedroom, and closed the door.


	13. The Following Morning

The bed was a thousand times more comfortable than yours, so you didn’t wake until hours later. To your relief, your hearing returned to normal; the painful buzzing burned away. The clock on the nightstand read an early morning hour, but you weren’t deterred. 

Your backpack housed your essentials, so you produced your brush and combed through your locks. Once you were in front of the mirror, to your surprise, your makeup was still relatively intact. You made final adjustments to your shirt and exited the room to the kitchen. 

The apartment was quiet. In the meeting room, Geoff was pouring over his laptop, thoroughly immersed in reviewing the screen. He barely spared you a glance, so you left him to his work. Jack, Gavin, and Michael were nowhere to be found, but Ryan layed on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, and fast asleep. 

He was still in his jeans, but had removed his shirt, it being piled at the foot of the couch. You gulped when you saw his frame. His muscles were toned, and he was littered with previously healed scars. Some looked like bullet wounds. 

Recalling the way he snapped the guard’s neck with ease, your curiosity piqued regarding his past. He must have stories to explain each mark, you considered. Not that you could outright ask him any of that, though. 

Quietly you tiptoed to the kitchen as to not disturb Ryan. The kitchen was, to your surprise, stocked with food. You grabbed some fruit to start. 

“Moxie,” Ryan said, sleep thick in his voice. 

He stepped to the opposite side of the counter just as you turned around. He was still shirtless, and you bit into your food with interest. Ryan rubbed his face to wake himself and gave you a languid grin while the depth to his voice returned.

“How do you feel? Do you need anything?” he asked with concern. 

You continued chewing, holding up the apple you were currently consuming and answered when you had the oral space. 

“Just some food, and I’ll be good.” 

Ryan rubbed his flexed bicep and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Geoff. When was certain the coast was clear for an intimate conversation, he turned back to you and leaned forward. 

“Can we talk about last night?” he asked just above a whisper. You felt your cheeks flush, but kept a cool tone as you took another bite of your breakfast. 

“Sure,” you responded, looking at some papers laid on the counter as distraction. “What’s on your mind?” 

Ryan’s brow adjusted with worry, reading into your neutral body language easily. 

“Moxie,” he prodded, catching your eyes. You stared back at him, finally, gulping passed a nervous flinch. 

“Let’s talk about our kiss.” 

You chuckled and looked away, once more, casually brushing off the memory. 

“Oh, that?” you faked. “Part of the job.” 

You looked back into his eyes once you gained confidence in your lie. He tried to jump in, but you cut him off.

“I got a little too into the act, true, but the way you played the situation, you didn’t give me much time to mentally prepare.” 

You finished with another bite while Ryan studied your face. You gave him a questioning look. 

“I--” he finally spoke up, but held back the thought. He smiled and folded his hands on the counter. 

“You fed into it like a champ,” he praised. 

You shrugged, confidently, “What can I say? I’m a good date.” He chuckled and confiscated a second apple from you. 

“For the record,” he said with a wink, “you’re a _great_ kisser.” 

Geoff emerged from his hideaway with a wide grin and dark circles highlighting his hard work. He slammed down a map, unfolding it with haste, revealing several circled points near the pier. 

“These are where the last ten drops were made,” Geoff directed, matter-of-factly. 

He laid a hand-scrawled piece of paper next to the circles; a list of cash exchanged for each type of drug purchased. You whistled when you read the figures. 

“This guy doesn’t mess around,” you commented, leaning over. Ryan shook his head. 

“Neither do we.”

Geoff tapped the figures with his index finger and asked, “Notice any patterns?”

You studied the numbers in detail. The highest exchange happened on Mondays, tapering off as the week went along. In fact, of the last ten transactions, six of them were early on Monday mornings. 

“Monday’s a busy day for Big Dutch,” you commented. 

Geoff smiled an impish grin, “Exactly. Problem is, we won’t know where the drop’s gonna be for sure. We certainly don’t have the manpower to be at every location at once.”

“But we know someone who _would_ know,” Ryan said, his arms crossed over his chest. Geoff nodded, already understanding. 

“Think you can get the weasel to talk?” he asked rhetorically. 

Ryan chuckled dangerously, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He tilted his head side to side, stretching out in preparation. His face twisted to a menacing character as he adopted the “Vagabond” persona before your very eyes. He looked terrifying; even without his mask. 

“Give me an hour. Do you have his address?” he asked, snatching his shirt from the floor and hastily putting it on. 

Geoff scribbled down an address on the corner of the map and tore it off, handing it to Ryan, who was shrugging his coat over his shoulders. Ryan studied the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. You watched as he secured his pistol in the holster under his jacket and tucked his knife into his back pocket. He caught you watching and shot you a sly wink as he headed down the hall. 

Geoff was on his phone, calling on the rest of the crew to convene at the apartment within the next few hours. Feeling out of place you made your way in the direction of the bedroom, where you found Ryan fitting the final touches before he set off. When you made eye contact, you felt the need to say _something_ to him. 

“Want me to tag along?” You offered. 

In truth, you hoped he’d say no. You knew exactly what he was going to do. You knew he was going to pay the manager of Big Dutch’s club a visit and _make_ him reveal the location of the next drop point by painful force.

Ryan shook his head and assured, “This one’s a solo venture, Moxie.”

He put his mask over his head, but didn’t yet cover his face as he shot you a knee-buckling smile. 

“Need anything, while I’m out?” he inquired, jokingly. 

You chuckled and waved it off, “Just come back in one piece, would you?” 

His dark tone returned as he secured his Vagabond mask, “It’s not pieces of _me_ you’ll need to worry about.” 

He brushed your arm to conclude the conversation and left the apartment, goosebumps trailing where his fingers touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vagabond is so much FUN!


	14. A Dark Atmosphere

You sat on the stool at the kitchen island and ate the rest of your breakfast in silence. Geoff was busy chatting on the phone to a contact, while you worked on cursing yourself for lacking decorum for an artificial make out session with Ryan. You got too excited by the prospect of going further with him. Sure, he was the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, and he’s shown interest in you, but all of that was platonic, right?

You didn’t get much of a chance to explore the questions when Jack, Michael, and Gavin walked through the front door. They all waved hello, and Jack and Gavin plopped down on the nearby couch. Michael reached in front of you across the counter to grab a bagel on the other side, to which he chomped hastily. 

“You get enough sleep?” He asked between chewing. You nodded and shrugged. 

“I didn’t hear a peep. You guys have some nice digs here.”

“Yeah, it’s easy when you own the whole building,” he finished. He turned away and continued stuffing his face with food while you fiddled with the core of the apple you had finished. 

“I’m surprised you could get a wink knowing Vagabond was sleeping outside your door,” Gavin chimed in. Michael raised his bagel in agreement and laughed.

“How do you mean?” You asked, swiveling around on the stool to face him. 

Gavin’s face looked sympathetic to your innocence while Jack chuckled to himself and kept his gaze on his phone. 

“Hun, you realize who he is, don’t you?” Gavin asked. 

Your eyes darted between all three characters. “Clearly I don’t _fully_ understand.”

Gavin leaned forward and clasped his hands together in preparation of your education. You felt an uneasy vibe befall the room. 

“Vagabond is mental,” Gavin said plainly. “The man goes on murderous sprees at the drop of a hat. Sure, we’re a gang, but even to our standards he can get out of hand.” 

You raised your eyebrow in disbelief, but Gavin didn’t give the act up.

“I’m serious!” he asserted and looked to Michael for support. 

“Yeah, he’s right,” Michael picked up where Gavin left off. “We’re crazy fucks, but Vagabond takes the cake in that department. Guy can start a bullet party faster than any of us.”

Your eyes went wide in astonishment. Sure, you never felt absolutely _safe_ around Vagabond, er, Ryan, but after the last few interactions, you assumed he was an average guy hiding behind a criminal facade. In fact, the rest of the Crew didn’t yet know you knew his real name. However, it would explain at least a bit of his character regarding your heated interaction. 

“Wow,” you muttered. “Any reason why he’s so dangerous?”

“Well,” Gavin began, again, “We were the typical crime conglomerate slowly taking over Los Santos until the whole incident with Big Dutch where --” 

“Gav,” Jack interjected, effectively cutting off his train of thought. 

Gavin adjusted his tone and continued with what you assumed was an edited version of the story. 

“Anyway, after the whole fiasco, something in him just snapped. Hasn’t been the same since.”

Michael finished his bagel and sat in a chair opposite Jack and Gavin, pivoting the conversation to target you, instead. 

“Have you killed anyone, Moxie?” he asked bluntly. Gavin and Jack looked just as astonished by the sudden turn as you. 

“Excuse me?” you stuttered. Michael was unaffected and pressed, asking the same question unabridged.

“Have you killed anyone?” 

Discomfort washed over you. Not only at the veracity of the interrogation, but at the lack of a winning answer. You had already lied to the Fake AH Crew once, and you needed to keep on their good side. Why else would they regale you with tales of Ryan’s fierce demeanor other than to test you? Still, you knew the truth: you hadn’t even come _close_ to killing someone. 

“No,” you answered honestly. “I’ve never found myself in the position to do it.”

Michael’s appearance didn’t shift. Instead, he continued, “Do you think you could?”

You paused, but didn’t break eye contact with him. 

“Yeah, I think I could.”

Michael smirked. 

“Good.”


	15. A Plot is Drawn

The door opened again, slamming against the wall in protest as Vagabond marched through with haste. He clutched his jacket in his hand, his tee shirt and neck spattered with blood. He tossed his jacket on the floor and immediately took off his shirt, leaving him topless, save for his mask. 

He held the top and yanked it off, gasping in a relieving breath. The rest of you watched Vagabond as he worked like a madman, scrubbing his hands and splashing water on his face in the kitchen sink. He took the nearby hand towel and dried himself off, finally facing the gallery. 

“Hey guys,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t just been cleaning up a crime scene. 

You looked back over at Michael who gave you a knowing look. You didn’t return any glance, opting to quiet any opinions. Geoff emerged from the conference room when he heard Ryan. 

“What did you find out?” he asked, refusing to delay business. 

“The next drop is Monday morning. Somewhere between 3:00am and 4:00am,” he said plainly. “A landing just south of Paleto Bay.” 

Geoff laid out a map of Los Santos for clarification, spotting the landing on the peninsula. He marked it with a broad circle and slapped the spot with excitement. 

“Alright boys,” he declared with pride. “Here’s the deal. Big Dutch moves all kinds of drugs and money in and out of Los Santos, but we’re not after his sloppy seconds.” 

Geoff held out the piece of paper he had shown you and Vagabond earlier. 

“Based on the last ten occurrences, the biggest drops go down on Mondays.”

“So what?” Gavin asked. “We rip off twenty grand from him? He’s not going to bat an eye.” 

“Exactly,” Geoff said pointing. “Once this drop hits land, we follow it. Track it to the distribution point. Then, after we take out the lead management, we take it over.”

“Won’t he just come and take it back? We’ll be at square one with him, again,” Jack protested. 

Geoff shook his head, “ _We’re_ not taking over the distributary. We’re going to _give_ it to another crew.”

“Now I’m really fucking confused,” Michael said with Gavin mumbling in agreement. Geoff took a step back to continue his speech. 

“We’re not just screwing with Big Dutch. We’re taking out that asshole’s empire. If we take over each of his main avenues of income and distribute management between all of his rival gangs in Los Santos, he’ll be screwed. He won’t have the capability to fight several turf wars on multiple fronts. Once he’s ready to turn tail and run, we’ll already have the big score we’re looking for. He won’t have anything left.”

You leaned back against the counter, impressed, and analyzed the rest of the guys. They all had varying degrees of malicious grins of excitement, except for Ryan. His face was stern, his arms crossed over his broad, bare chest; still in “Vagabond” mode.

“So what do we do, now?” “Vagabond” asked. 

“Now, we prepare,” Geoff instructed. “Gavin and Michael will be boots on the ground at the drop point, hiding out and intercepting the delivery guys on the boat after Dutch’s Los Santos contacts have left. These guys are probably regulars, so we’ll need to draw information on the locations of the next drops. Once we take a distributary, we won’t have long until we’re faced with resistance, probably a week max, so we’ll need to get as many as we can and start passing them out.”

Geoff addressed Gavin and Michael directly, “Try to pay them off, first. Give them larger cuts than they get now. But, if they’re more loyal than expected, do what you need to do.” 

They both nodded with clearer understanding. 

“Vagabond and Moxie will follow Dutch’s Los Santos contact to the distributary. Once you’ve made where they make the drop, call it in. Jack and I will be in a car near the drop point, and we’ll all convene immediately wherever they report. After that, it’s standard B-and-E, but go for the big boys.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, firmly set on the direction of the plan. 

“We have two days,” Geoff said firmly, holding up the appropriate number of fingers and making eye contact with everyone. “Get your shit together. We’ll meet here Monday at midnight.”

Everyone stood and broke out into groups, talking strategy and synchronizing timetables. Ryan turned to you and gave you a sly smirk. 

“Looks like we’re still the best team,” he chuckled. 

You laughed nervously in return, “Yeah, maybe they think I’m the only one who can tame the Hulk.”

Ryan looked at you quizzically, “I beg your pardon?”

You blushed and changed the subject quickly, “Nothing. Just some razzing. Let’s talk some shop.”

“Sure,” he said leaning over on the counter in front of you with a smile. “What do you wanna discuss?”

“Actually,” you hesitated and looked over your shoulder at the rest of the Crew still enamored with making plans. “Could we go for a drive? I’d rather talk privately.” Ryan’s smile faded to a more concerned demeanor. 

“Yeah, of course,” he confirmed. “Let me grab a shirt and we’ll head out. I’ll let the guys know.” 

He went off to the bedroom to abscond a clean shirt, but you didn’t wait around for the Crew to side eye you while Ryan explained why you didn’t want to share your feelings with the class. You snuck down the hallway, grabbing your backpack on the way out of the apartment. You made your way to the alley where Ryan’s car was parked, and leaned against it until he showed up. 

When he did, he greeted you with a kind smile and opened the passenger side door for you without a word. He entered on the opposite side, and you addressed him before he could ask you any pressing questions. 

“Do you want to go get some breakfast?” you blurted. 

Ryan nodded and turned the ignition, “I know a great diner a couple miles from here. My treat.”

You sighed, relieved he was acting normally. You buckled yourself in while Ryan pulled out of the alleyway and onto the sparse street, in the direction of your date.


	16. The Breakfast Debate

Ryan pulled into the diner’s parking lot after a silent drive. He waited for you to lead the way inside, greeting the hostess and settling at a booth in the back near the window. The waitress came by and took your drink order, while you and Ryan looked over the menu briefly. 

“Any idea what you’re getting?” Ryan inquired. 

You glanced over your menu while your stomach grumbled. 

“Pancakes,” you affirmed, confidently. “With chocolate chips.”

Ryan chuckled and laid his menu down when the server returned with your drinks: diet cola for him and coffee for you, black and bitter. 

“Ready to order?” she asked gruffly. 

“I’ll have chocolate chip pancakes, please,” you said, offering your menu to her. She quickly jotted the order down and turned to Ryan. 

“I’ll have the same,” he insisted. 

You raised your eyebrow at his chivalry, to which he gave you a quick wink. The waitress took your menus and went on her way, leaving you cornered with Ryan’s undeterred questioning. 

“So,” he began. “What did you want to talk about?” 

You took a cursory sip of your piping hot coffee and reveled in the harsh taste, using it as fuel to push aside any fears of embarrassment. 

“Would you teach me how to use a gun?” you blurted a little louder than you had intended. 

Immediately, Ryan looked around in defense. The area nearby was empty, thankfully, and, when he determined this to be truth, he addressed you with a low tone. 

“Let’s be discreet, here,” he spread his fingers out on the table between you two. “Why do you want to know how to use one?

You shrugged your shoulders and pressed, “Can you teach me, or not?”

“Of course I can, but I thought that --” he confirmed in a rattled tone of voice. He leaned closer before mumbling, “I thought that you didn’t like working with guns.”

You gulped down more coffee and met his eyes, “I don’t. But, I know the job’s gonna end in a shootout, and I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire unprepared.” Ryan sighed and nodded in agreement. 

“You’re right,” he confirmed. “You need to know. We’ll head to the range after breakfast.”

“Just do me a favor,” you said, putting a finger on one of his hands matter-of-factly.

“Anything,” Ryan voiced without hesitation. 

“Don’t say a word to the guys about it,” you pleaded. “For some reason you protected my image to them after the convenience store, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Ryan laughed and agreed to the accord, offering his hand as manifestation. You took the gesture and shook his hand once, just as the waitress returned with your sugary sustenance. You both devoured your breakfast and littered your conversation with small talk to lighten the mood. 

“So what do you like to do in your down time?” you asked, taking a large bite. Ryan cocked his head in response, so you elaborated. 

“You know, things you do that you enjoy _outside_ of your main source of income? For fun?”

Ryan wiped his mouth with a napkin and pondered, to which you showed disbelief almost immediately. 

“Oh come on,” you prodded. You hushed your tone slightly, “Don’t tell me all you do is murder and steal.”

Ryan’s gaze shot to yours and darkened in an instant at your suggestion, and you fell back against the booth as though you had been pushed. However, he looked out the window to right himself, returning to playful conversation. 

“I guess I’m just a workaholic,” he offered. “I try to catch movies every now and then.”

“Yeah?” you cleared your throat and continued normally. “What was the last movie you watched?”

“Just a couple weeks ago I watched _Heat_. You know? The one with De Niro and --,” he said nearing the end of his platter of pancakes. You jumped in before he could finish his thoughts. 

“Oh my God, I love _Heat!_ ” You sat up straight and gave your best De Niro impersonation, “‘What am I doing? Talking to an empty telephone ‘cause there is a dead man on the other end of this fuckin’ line.’” 

Ryan laughed out loud at your impromptu acting talents. 

“Not bad,” he praised. “Not bad at all, Moxie.”

“Thank you,” you bowed your head in gratitude and proceeded. “But seriously, Ryan. As much of a masterpiece as _Heat_ is, you’re not such a one-note kind of guy, are you?”

You took another bite as Ryan leaned back and furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“How do you mean?”

You finished chewing and explained, “Your side interests really center around your identity as ‘Vagabond?’ I refuse to believe that considering how you’re acting right now.”

Ryan glanced around again before leaning forward and responding in a firm tone, “I do what I love, and I’m good at it. ‘Vagabond’ is the guy that kept you from getting your face shot off, remember that?” 

His eyes darted between yours, watching you nod cautiously as you recalled the embarrassing scene in the convenience store. 

“I remember.”

Ryan bobbed his head, satisfied with your recollection and challenged, “And do you think you can handle learning from ‘Vagabond?’ He doesn’t do well with slackers.” 

You sat up straight, effectively finishing with distractions and ready to helm the responsibility of your own protection. 

“I’m ready, Vagabond.” 

His sinister smile was evidence enough, but his grave tone an authentic report of your new, criminal teacher. You needed his dangerous side, after all.

“Let’s get started.”


	17. Target Practice

The shooting range was on the way to your apartment, funnily enough. Ryan greeted the clerk as an old friend, and you weren’t surprised in the least bit. In fact, he looked in his element and quite happy. He selected a modest pistol for you to start, bringing along a burst rifle, as well. 

Ryan lead you to your lane and laid the guns out, explaining the key points of each one. He extracted the magazine from the rifle to show you how it loaded. 

“Let’s start with the pistol, first,” he suggested, offering it to you grip side. “It’s going to be easier to manage.”

Cautiously, you took hold and wrapped your fingers around it, hoping to find some kind of comfort. 

“So I point the business end toward the target and shoot, right?” you joked, trying to dispel your discomfort. Ryan chuckled and maneuvered so he was behind you. 

“There are a few more steps involved before you start,” he corrected. 

Ryan showed you the safety’s location and where to look to aim down sights. He adjusted your hands to hold the pistol comfortably and to keep it from painfully recoiling. You clutched the pistol tightly, and Ryan eased his hands over yours to right them. 

“Not so stiff, Mox,” he said. “You’ll end up with sore shoulders in no time. Can’t hold up a gun, then.” 

You followed his instructions, but couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the build of his chest against your back, the view of his biceps over you, and the way his hands enveloped yours. 

_Focus, dammit._

You took a deep breath and exhaled a thin line of air as you squeezed the trigger. 

“Nice job!” Ryan praised. 

The noise of the barrel’s explosion was familiar, yet it was much louder now that you were closer to the action. You took a moment to adjust your stance, and Ryan dropped his arms to stand behind and watch you learn. You fired off the rest of the clip, slowly gaining confidence with each burst. It took much less force to pull the trigger than you had expected, actually. 

Ryan clapped and returned to his place beside you when you were finished. He pushed the button to recall the target, and you laid the pistol on the counter in front of you. 

“So? How’d I do?” you inquired sheepishly. At the very least, you had hoped you didn’t make a fool out of yourself in front of the seasoned veteran. 

He collected the target from the hook and whistled, offering it to you to examine. It was a photograph of a man pointing a gun in your direction, and you had managed to nail around his chest for most of the shots. You frowned when you noticed his head was still unscathed. 

“No headshots,” you complained.

“You hit the broadest target, that’s what counts,” he assured. “It’ll come with practice.”

You grimaced at the thought of shooting enough to actually excel in the exercise. Still, Ryan was teaching you exactly what you needed to know. 

The pair of you trained with the rifle for a bit longer, and you finally got the hang of loading a magazine. You fired off the last of the rounds and clicked the safety on when you caught Ryan staring out of the corner of your eye. This time, however, he wasn’t staring at the target. 

“Can I help you?” you asked with a chuckle, throwing your hair in a quick ponytail. 

Ryan shook his head and looked at his feet, obviously embarrassed he was caught. You waited for him to meet your eyes again. 

“No, seriously,” you pressed. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” he stammered. “You’re just-- you’re getting really good at shooting. I’m proud of you.”

You grinned and shoved him away playfully, “Uh huh, alright.” 

There was a long pause of silence before Ryan spoke again. 

“So, what do you say we finish up here and go work on some more things for the job?” he suggested.

You gave a half-smile and answered, “Honestly, I’d love to go home and have a shower.”

“I’ll drive you,” Ryan offered almost immediately. 

You smiled and nodded, the pair of you returning the guns and leaving the shop.


	18. Preconceived Notions

Ryan followed you upstairs and into your apartment. You offered him entry, but you had the feeling that he was going to find his way in regardless of your answer. Besides, you thought, you guys really should go over some key points before Monday. 

Right now, however, you felt grimy from a long night’s work, and you were in desperate need of a cleansing. You walked to your bedroom door, but paused, turning to invite Ryan to make himself comfortable while you showered. 

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” you said. “Would you mind chilling for a while? There’s drinks in the fridge if you’re thirsty.” 

Ryan nodded and flopped on your worn couch, still in his leather jacket. 

“Take your time.”

You emptied your bag on your bed, throwing your old clothes in a heap on the floor. You took the extra flash drive with the AH Crew info out of your clutch and laid it beside your computer. 

That would have to wait until you were alone. 

-

One refreshing shower later, you were exiting your room in some clean, comfortable clothes and your hair pressed nicely. You glanced over at the couch and saw Ryan still laying across it, a book in hand, and a beer on the coffee table. You chuckled and opened the refrigerator to find your own. 

“So,” you began. “Would you like to go over some things for Monday?”

Ryan swung his feet off the edge and to the floor, sitting up. 

“No, I want to know how you find the time to watch this many films,” he answered, laying what you now recognized as your DVD case, not a book. 

You rolled your eyes and popped open your beer, taking a big gulp instead of answering the rhetorical question. 

“You know,” he continued. “For a person in your line of work, you certainly have a lot of romantic comedies.”

You finally pandered to his attacks, “I enjoy the happy escapism, as a matter of fact.” 

Ryan laid the case on your coffee table and made his way to join you for the alcoholic refreshment. 

“Really?” he continued, taking a drink of his beer. “Interesting.”

“What do you mean, ‘Interesting?’” you retorted, slightly taken aback. 

“Well, I never really pegged you for the glass-of-white-wine-and-a-night-in-with-her-cat kind of girl,” he finished.

You placed your beer on the counter and rested your hand on your chest, dramatically. Ryan shrugged and immediately apologized, but you weren’t about to let him get away that easily. 

“Take a look around _Vagabond,_ ” you ranted. “Does it _look_ like I live the ‘white wine’ lifestyle? You can go right to hell with that.” 

Ryan laughed nervously and adjusted the conversation. 

“It just struck me as surprising, considering. Besides, I imagine you put effort into your work outside of the bank.” 

You finished your beer and nodded, “I put in a lot of time.”

“Do you work out?” he asked. 

You nearly choked on your beverage from laughter while Ryan refocused. 

“I mean in hand-to-hand combat,” he said. 

You shrugged, “I try to keep my jobs stealthy, but I do know some hand-to-hand, yeah.” 

Ryan was silent for a moment and then finished his beer, setting it on the counter next to yours. A devilish grin spread across his face. 

“Let’s put your skills to the test.”


	19. Technical Knockout

A look of disdain on your face, you rolled your eyes at Ryan. He cocked his head to the side, a nonverbal cue of his innocence to the situation. 

“Oh c’mon, Ryan, be a little more realistic,” you griped, standing before him. “I can’t fucking fight you! You’re twice my size.” He made a noise of displeasure. 

“Ye of little faith...” he mocked, unzipping his leather jacket, maneuvering passed you, and laying it on the floor opposite the kitchen near the door. He unclasped his holster and placed it atop his jacket, his pistol still hooked inside. 

“You know that there’s a good probability that every single person working for Big Dutch is larger than you are?” he inquired. “You want to be realistic? Work with what your given instead of bitching about the odds.” 

You resented his lack of empathy, but reluctantly agreed with his reasoning with a gruff sigh. You rubbed your face in frustration and pressed forward, coming to terms with the idea you were about to get your ass kicked. 

“So what do you want me to do?” you asked him, ready to get it over with. 

“Get passed me and to my gun on the other side of the room, and you win. Simple as that.” Ryan had a sly smirk, and you knew he had something up his sleeve. 

He squared up, and you followed suit, albeit a looser version of his enthusiasm for violence. You gave him a quick once over. His broad chest and sizeable biceps made him like a brick wall. Ryan’s icy blue eyes trailed your every move like a hawk. He was totally impenetrable from the front by your miniscule frame. If you wanted to stun him with a punch to the face, you’d have to land it perfectly the first time; there would be no second chances. In truth, if you met Ryan in a dark alley, you’d piss yourself in fear.

_How on Earth am I going to get passed that beast?_

You glanced around, spotting one of the beer bottles left over. Immediately, you took one by the neck and threw it at Ryan, making him put his forearms in front of his face defensively. It connected with him, and you took the opportunity to grab the second bottle, jumping on one of your stools to run across the small island in the middle of your kitchen.

You threw the second bottle with a quick flick of your wrist as you lept, aiming for Ryan’s face, after you saw him recover from your first assault. This one connected with his shoulder before he could prevent it. Sailing across the island in your kitchen, you made it to the floor and scrambled for the prize a few feet ahead. 

Ryan was fast to recover. He grasped your ankle, making you topple over before your hands could soften your fall. You turned around, livid at how rough Ryan was playing this game. 

He was laughing. The jackass was actually finding humor in this. 

Anger taking over, you wound back, your fist finding claim across his cheek, enough to crack your knuckles. You heard Ryan swear under his breath, but the offense was enough to break his hold of you, so you jumped with gazelle-like grace to where his holster lay. Just as you unsheathed the goal, Ryan stood over you, a darkness across his face where you knocked out the joy. 

He looked like Vagabond, and Vagabond had you trapped. 

“You know, I _was_ trying to be nice in my offer to help you train,” he growled. “I _was_ going to take it easy and offer you some technical advice. What the hell was that punch about?” 

You stood to face him, undeterred by his fierce persona. 

“Me?” you retorted. “I’m lucky I still have teeth after that fall. Besides, ‘All’s fair in love and war.’” You waved the pistol in his face, mockingly, and grinned your victory sweetened by the look of anger on his normally-smug face. 

“This isn’t war,” he said through his teeth. 

Ryan looked even more tense than before. His face was red, his pupils blown wide. For a moment, you thought he was going to attack you, and you were nervous. 

“Ryan?” you asked, just above a whisper. He let out an audible growl and muttered under his breath. 

“Fuck it.” 

Ryan attacked you with a deep kiss, pushing his tongue passed your surprised lips to dominate. He held your waist firmly with one hand; the other holding the side of your face. You went along with his motions, for you were too shocked to do anything else in protest. Besides, it felt wonderful. 

You kept your eyes open during the entire encounter, watching his eyebrows change from furrowed to relaxed in an instant. You rested against the door, letting him release his pent up aggravation. He pulled away from the kiss after a moment, putting a step of distance between the pair of you. 

It was silent. You didn’t know what to say, at first, for you thought he kissed you as a method of releasing anger instead of punching you in the face. A fine alternative, in your opinion. However, on your end, you could feel the warmth pooling in your stomach as a direct result of his hands. 

“I’ve been thinking about that all day,” Ryan blurted. 

He paused to swallow, and you filled in the negative space, dropping his pistol on his jacket. You pressed your body against his and ran your fingers through his hair. You kissed him briefly, biting his lip as you drew back and grinding against his body. You felt Ryan fight back a moan, opting to exhale deeply as he rested his hands on your hips. 

You could tell he was holding back; fighting whatever urges he felt. It was endearing, actually. To know that even when he was fuming with frustration, he was able to withhold his domineering instincts to err on the side of chivalry. Even so, you wanted Ryan just as fervently, so you were going to have to invite him to make a move. 

Your body was shaking with desire, but you found the wherewithal to grip his hair at the back of his neck. His eyes rolled back, and you whispered against his lips. 

“Then why did you stop?”


	20. A Night with Vagabond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello there, Smut. It's so nice to see you, again.

In an instant Ryan was pressing against you, his lips on yours, and his hands gripping your waist. You gave in to his dominion, closing your eyes this time to appreciate the other sensations you felt. His hands explored your torso, slowly maneuvering their way up your back. 

His touch was warm, even through your shirt, and you itched to feel his skin against yours. You let your hands drop from his neck to feel his chest. He let out a sigh, so you continued down his stomach until you found the hem of his shirt. You gently eased it up, pausing when you got over his belt. 

“Ryan?” you asked as you broke the kiss. 

You tugged on his shirt, asking him without words. He smiled and put his arms over his head as you eased it up and over. He tossed it aside and enveloped you in a loose embrace. Your hands shook with anticipation as you ghosted them across his chest. The scars he had were deep set and only served as reminder of his dangerous nature. 

It turned you on. 

“My turn,” he said coyly. Ryan ran his hands under your shirt and slowed his pace when he passed over your breasts. 

You bit your lip, but let him pull the fabric over your head, your shirt finding his on the floor. He ran his hands over your shoulders and took a deep breath. He stared at your breasts, seeming lost in what to do next. 

He didn’t waste much time, ultimately, for, in one swift motion, Ryan’s hands found your bottom, and he lifted you up. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself. He turned around with you and rested you against the kitchen island. You began working on his neck, tracing your tongue up to his ear while your fingers found the buckle on his belt. You made quick work of the restraint and pulled the button on his jeans in a sweep. Ryan groaned and eased your hands away. 

“Not yet,” he said. “I want to enjoy you, first.”

He hoisted you again, this time; however, he laid you across your rug on the floor opposite the kitchen. You smirked and laid your arms above your head in a luxurious stretch. 

“Am I moving too fast?” you jested. 

Ryan chuckled in return, “I want you to hear you moan.”

Ryan hovered over you and pinned you down, holding your arms flat against the floor as he attacked your collarbone with sucking kisses and love bites. You mewled at the touch, still in disbelief this was happening. He let go of one of your wrists and slid his hand underneath your bra, grasping and pinching your already excited nipples. You closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of his fingers trailing across your bare stomach and striking every motion to memory. 

He found his way around to your back where he undid the clasp, freeing your chest from the confines. He released your hands and pulled your bra from your frame, casting it carelessly aside. Ryan’s mouth fell to your breast, drawing his tongue across your nipple while his hand worked the other expertly.

Gasps and whines were the only noises you could muster. After all, it seemed as though Ryan had an agenda with you, and you weren’t about to refuse service. You ran your fingers through his hair as he switched his attention, resuming the ministrations on the opposite side. 

Ryan kissed down your stomach, his fingers and tongue leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He gripped the waistband of your athletic pants, pulling them down your legs along with your panties. He placed sucking kisses on your hips as he did, refusing to move until your pants reached your knees. 

You kicked out of them with his assistance, and you watched Ryan sit back on his heels when you were fully nude. His eyes were hooded with lust, and he ran a hand through his dirty blonde locks. His eyes trailed from your breasts and down to your womanhood. You were a little embarrassed by his scrutiny, to be quite honest. You moved your hands to cover your breasts, but Ryan placed his over yours. 

“Stay like this for a second,” he inquired. “Please?” 

You blushed, but obliged, returning your hands to rest leisurely. You heard Ryan make a noise from the back of his throat in response. 

“So beautiful,” he complimented. 

He dipped his head to roughly bite your hips, and you held back a moan. Ryan placed affectionate kisses across the top of your pelvis, teasing with his tongue every few passes. You wriggled and watched him intently, anticipating what was coming next. 

Slowly, he drew his tongue up your center, keeping his eyes trained on your response. Your hands immediately shot to his head, gripping it to keep him in place. Ryan mimicked the previous action, but wrapped his mouth around your clit at the end. Your eyes rolled back in your head this time, and his name escaped your lips. 

You could feel him smile against your thigh, and he continued his work. He moaned into your sex, his tongue finding its way inside of you. He worked you up, thoroughly, never settling on one motion. His lips were softer than anything you had ever felt, and you were sure you would melt under his talented tongue. 

You glanced down every so often, and, each time, Ryan was staring deep into your eyes; studying you. Your moans were consistent, and your eyebrows drawn together. You felt like you were close to reaching your end, and your body was in constant motion. Just so, Ryan pulled back from his labor, his mouth slick with your juices. 

“Oh we’re not done, yet,” he said, licking his lips clean, as though he could read your thoughts. 

His index finger was on your clit in short time, slowly drawing circles while you gasped and whined. He dipped it halfway inside of you, and you grabbed his shoulders in response. Ryan laid his free hand over your chest, gently pulling at you while he worked the digit in further. 

He pressed his finger into you while his tongue targeted your clit. He twisted and crooked his finger, all the while, a string of obscenities and groans your only release. It felt amazing, but you didn’t want to give in to him, just yet. You needed to feel him inside of you before that could happen. 

You moved your body upward, away from him, seeking respite from his merciless tongue. Ryan paused immediately and looked up at you. He looked thoroughly worked up and ready to pounce. 

“Fuck me, Vagabond,” you begged. He stood up and finished the work you started on his jeans, stripping to match your nudity. 

“I’m not going to take it easy on you, Moxie,” he said in a dangerous tone. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”


	21. For the First Time

Sitting up, you rose to your knees, to get a better look at his length. He was an impressive size, but his girth had you speechless. You ran your hands up Ryan’s bare thighs while he ran his fingers through your hair. You gave him a cursory lick on the tip of his manhood, and he took a shallow breath. 

You wrapped your lips around him, settling your tongue underneath. Ryan gasped, and his grip on your hair tightened. You moaned and closed your eyes, enjoying the weight of his cock. You moved your head downward gradually, taking your time to appreciate all he had to offer. He grunted and swore under his breath. 

When you opened your eyes, you realized you had only taken him halfway, making your core tremble with excitement. You eased back to his tip, sucking gently as you pulled your mouth away. Ryan’s knees buckled, and you grabbed his hips to encourage stability. 

You repeated the process faster, this time, working your mouth around his length in a steady motion as you heard him match in moans. He adjusted his hold, clutching the crown of your head, but letting you control the pace. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and mimicked the actions of your mouth. It only took a few pumps before Ryan growled and tugged your head off of him. 

“As much as I would _love_ to fuck your mouth,” he said with a deep sigh. “I _need_ to fuck your pussy.” 

He took your hands to help you stand, and you swallowed his flavor. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you said, your voice hoarse. 

Ryan swiftly picked you up and carried you in the direction of your bedroom, sampling sweet kisses along the journey. He sat on the edge of your bed, propping you just south of his excited length. He laid across the bed with your hands pressing against his shoulders as suggestion. 

You hovered your mouth over Ryan’s as he reached between your bodies and navigated his length to your center. You kept your eyes locked on his as he brushed the tip across your slit and to your entrance. He pressed into you tenderly, and you savored the feeling of your body stretching to accommodate his size. 

Ryan swallowed your moans with passionate kisses as he proceeded with his goal. He concentrated on controlling the movements, holding your thighs in place each time he moved. You lowered your hips when he pressed upward, your bodies close to meeting. He groaned when you did, so you raised yourself on your elbows to watch his face each time. 

“Naughty girl,” he struggled to say. You smirked, fully content with having the upper hand against Vagabond. 

Ryan’s hips met yours, and he was finally buried to the hilt inside of you. You couldn’t help but moan, prompting Ryan to smile. 

“Just because you’re on top, doesn’t mean you’re in control, sweetheart,” he pointed out. 

You sat up, placing your hands on his chest to steady the deep set feeling. The burning sensation made your core feel that much more sensitive. Ryan felt your walls compress and, thankfully, gave you respite while you found a comfortable position. He rotated his hips when you did, and his length prodded a spot you hadn’t discovered, yourself. 

“Oh fuck, Ryan!” you cried out, throwing your head back. 

Ryan ran his hand up the valley of your breasts to play with them while the other held your hip. You tried wiggling to adjust the pressure, but he wasn’t giving in. He repeated the action, and you looked down, your eyes begging for leniency. He pinned you in place without using a single finger.

“I warned you I wasn’t going to take it easy,” he said, shaking his head. 

He looked focused as he returned to grip either side of your hips. His pace increased, and your growing screams only fueled his torture of your center. Soon, you were bouncing on his entire length and digging your nails into his chest. 

Your whole body felt as though it was on fire. You could feel sweat pouring from both of you as Ryan struggled to keep a grip. He looked disheveled and you wondered how he was able to keep physical restraint while you felt your orgasm building at a dangerous pace. You met his eyes, now dark, lust-filled pools.

“Harder,” you groaned, falling forward to lay your lips against his. 

“That’s a good girl,” he chuckled. He wrapped his arms around the small of your back and continued to pump in and out of you rapidly. 

You rested your forehead against his, letting him build up your impending release. Your moans were constant as your body stiffened. All the while, Ryan encouraged you to find your end. 

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, Moxie. I want to feel you.” 

With a few deep hits, your orgasm was torn from you. You couldn't help but scream as Ryan was unyielding to your escape. Your body shuddered at the mind-blowing feeling until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Still, you knew Ryan was close, and you were aching to know what his release felt like. You bounced up and down carefully, and Ryan’s eyes were alight with inspiration as he turned you over to rest on the bed. 

His eyes were practically piercing as he continued the onslaught of thrusts. His arms enveloped you protectively while you whined through the hypersensitivity. Yet, you didn’t want him to stop. In fact, you wished you both could stay like this all weekend. Ryan licked his thumb and snaked it between your warm bodies, finding your special nub. You cried out, and your walls compressed around his invading length. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged with a weary moan. 

Ryan lingered on a blink; an indication he was in desperate straits. His hips were sloppy and ill paced, as he tried hopelessly to keep you pinned. You pushed his shoulders back, making him sit on the bed, while you rode him. You kept pace with his previous motions, captivated by the look on his face. His hair was matted against his forehead; his lips pink and parted, slightly. He kept a bruising grip on your hips as you leaned backward to take in his deep thrusts. 

“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice strained. He said your name repeatedly in a whispered chant that emboldened you. 

Finally, Ryan erupted inside of you, flooding your center. His mouth collided with yours to escape the intensity. And, when you came from the force, he winced. 

He fell backward on the bed, ultimately breaking the kiss and gasping for air, his arms above his head in defeat. You let yourself come down casually from the high, being careful when you lifted yourself off of his length. You laid beside him, yet you gave the pair of you space for recovery. Ryan whined softly, and you couldn’t hold back your chuckle. He turned to address your offense with a laugh of his own. 

“And what’s so funny?” he questioned. 

“We ruined each other,” you reasoned. You tried raising your knees, but they shook like leaves, so you let your legs flop back on the bed. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he retorted, “I think I could take you again.” 

You let out a mocking laugh and challenged, “Yeah? Go on then, Vagabond. Show me how it’s done.”

He groaned and turned on his side, propping himself up to look at you. 

“Don’t test me, Moxie. Talking that way is going to get you in trouble.” 

You knew he was full of shit. You laid your hand on his thigh, and he recoiled in fear. You laughed at his reaction. 

“That’s what I thought, tough guy.” 

Ryan laid his arm across your stomach, wrapping you into a comforting caress. His breath was warm against the side of your head, so you closed your eyes and sighed, letting yourself drift off in the arms of your new lover.


	22. The Finer Details

You awoke a few hours later, you surmised, as the sun had yet to set outside of your bedroom window. You stretched and groaned, several joints cracking in your tired body from the friction you and Ryan created. His hand snaked over your bare stomach before you could do anything else. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he questioned sleepily, pulling you closer. Ryan nuzzled your ear, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the ticklish sensation. 

“I was thinking of getting something to eat,” you replied with a smile. “Aren’t you hungry?”

As he laid on his side, he pushed your hair back and tugged at the shell of your ear with a soft growl. 

“I am pretty hungry,” he said with a grin of his own. 

Before you could retort, Ryan was kissing you deeply, holding the side of your head to keep you from turning away. You acquiesced to the intimacy, opting to get lost in the taste of his soft lips. His tongue ghosted over your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth to allow the persuasion. Ryan twirled his tongue over yours and lead you into a predictable pattern. His hand wandered from your cheek, down your chest, until it rested on your stomach. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and you chuckled in the kiss. 

“I thought you wanted to get something to eat,” you accused. 

“Mmhm,” he agreed. 

He worked his way down your neck, gently peppering you with kisses until he reached your breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around its peak. You held the back of his head and bit back a moan. 

“We should talk about the job, Ryan,” you said with a soft sigh. 

Ryan’s hand wrapped around your hip, and he squeezed you hard with a frustrated grunt. He paused his progress on your excited breast and looked up at you, an annoyed expression on his face. You brushed your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. 

“Alright,” he reluctantly conceded. “But can we agree to come back to this? There’s so much more I have yet to do to you.” 

He dragged his finger up your torso and pulled at your opposite nipple playfully. You let your head fall back, reconsidering your responsibilities. Still, you nodded. 

“Definitely.”

Ryan gave you one final kiss on the lips, and you both slowly sat up. You swung your legs over the side and stood, stumbling forward as you relearned your balance. Surprisingly, Ryan was behind you, his arm wrapping around your stomach. 

“Could you stay naked? It’s the least you can do for making me work on the weekend,” he joked. 

You chuckled and reached over to the chair in the corner of your room, selecting a hoodie and a pair of shorts as a quick answer. 

“If we get things sorted out, you can have me any way you’d like,” you responded. 

“Oh really?” Ryan inquired, his eyes alight and a malicious smile spreading across his face. “‘ _Any way I’d like_?’” 

He followed you out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, grabbing his previously discarded jeans and boxers from the floor. He put them on in a quick zip, opting to remain shirtless. You rolled your eyes and opened your freezer to see what you had to eat. You found a frozen pizza and unwrapped it while Ryan leaned back against the counter next to you. 

“Oh don’t be so smug about it,” you said, ushering him aside to preheat your oven. “We _do_ have some work to do. I really don’t want to go into this job unprepared and screw things up for the Crew.” 

“You’ll do just fine,” Ryan assured with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“I don’t know,” you reasoned. “This seems like a big deal to you guys. The history between the Crew and Big Dutch, what happened, exactly?”

Ryan was silent for a moment while you put the pizza in the oven to cook. When he didn't answer, you turned to face him. He was staring sternly off into the distance, and you got an uneasy feeling. 

“How much of Los Santos does Dutch control?” you redirected.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to do your own research on the crook since you’ve gotten into bed with the Fake AH Crew and, now that you had actually been in bed with one of its members, you felt you needed more of a backstory. Finding a couple of bottles of water in the refrigerator, you handed one to Ryan. 

“He’s been running most of the city for almost a decade,” he finally answered. “He’s a real slimy bastard. He picked up the scraps after everything went down.” 

“With the Milano family,” you filled in after taking a drink of your water. “I remember Geoff mentioning that in our meeting before the club. What happened with them?” Ryan uncapped his bottle and took a quick swig before continuing. 

“The Milano family was running the show for a couple of generations. They dated back to the days where they’d provide protection for the union guys and all of the others who couldn’t go to the cops. After the 80’s, the family was split on how to handle the drug game Los Santos had built up. Obviously the older generation strongly against it, while the younger ones wanted to pick up the easy cash. Things got heated and the family heads weren’t loyal to each other after a while.” 

“So, how did Big Dutch fit into the picture? Or you guys, for that matter?” you asked. 

“Dutch was a muscleman for the younger Milano crew. Small time dealing, and he wasn’t anything special. He was with them for years when we came into Los Santos and started giving them a run for their money,” Ryan continued. “In the end, the Milano family was so fractured, they collapsed on their own organization. Most of them are either locked up down south or dead. And after they all went away, there were openings, so we all kind of came together and divided what was left.”

“Hmm,” you reasoned. “And things didn’t stay copesthetic.” 

“No,” he answered, his fingers gripped his bottle a little tighter. “He ended up screwing over the whole Crew.”

You straightened at the revelation and confirmed, “Wait, he was in your _Crew?_ ” Ryan’s arms flexed, defining the scars on his torso that much more. 

“He was a small time player, even with us. But the lack of glory got to him, so he got greedy,” he said. “He was a shitty criminal.” 

“So?” you pressed. “You guys lost money? I’m still confused why there’s such a vendetta against him. You guys don’t seem to be struggling financially, you’ve still got the clout, and you don’t strike me as the crew who wants it all to yourselves. Isn’t it easier to take the loss and move on?” 

If you hadn’t just screwed around with Ryan, you would have felt sorry for being so forward. However, you weren’t going to fight a war you didn’t understand. Ryan stared daggers at you for a moment, but immediately softened his gaze. 

“Bad shit,” he concluded. “He deserves what’s coming to him, trust me, Moxie.” You raised your hands in surrender, leaving the juiciest tidbit of information for another pillow talk session. 

The aroma of fully cooked pizza filled the air, so you carefully took it out of the oven and cut it up for you and Ryan. You both let the silence sit while you devoured a few slices to replenish your exhausted bodies. 

“So in regards to _our_ job,” you began again. “How do you think it’s going to go down? Do you think there’ll be lots of pushback at the warehouse?”

Ryan shrugged. “Probably. But, it’s nothing we can’t handle.” 

Something about it all didn’t sit right with you. You were pretty green to the armed robbery game, and Ryan knew it even if the rest of the Crew didn’t. He either had a lot of misplaced confidence in your criminal abilities, or he wanted to get you killed. Considering their crew pulled predominately gun-based jobs, you weren’t the right fit for this scheme. 

“Ryan?” you inquired. The suspense of the Crew’s true intent regarding your state was too palpable for you to ignore. “Why do you guys want me on this job? I get that Geoff and the rest of the Crew think I’m some master criminal thanks to your fib the other night, but you know I don’t have deep knowledge in the field like you guys do. I’m going to be a liability, so why involve me?”

Ryan wiped his hands on his pants as he finished chewing pizza and brought his arms around your frame, unexpectedly. He took the slice from your hands and tossed it back on the pan, holding the side of your face and bringing you in for a deep kiss. His tongue and lips were soft and tender against yours. 

“I have confidence in you,” he simply said after pulling away. He shot you a wink, and you blushed. 

“Don’t tell me you want to back out now,” he groused. “Because you’re in too deep now. I’d have to kill you, and I’m _seriously_ enjoying your company.” He let out a small chuckle, and you gave a hearty, mocking laugh. 

“Oh I’d never want to piss off Vagabond,” you commented. “Although, I do know his weak spot now.” You took a few steps forward and rested your hands on his hips. You stood on your tip toes and traced your lips and tongue gently across his shoulders, to the crux of his neck. You bit deeply and sucked for a few moments, leaving a dark, purple mark in its place, and eliciting a deep groan from Ryan. 

“You think you know me, huh?” he asked, pressing his palms on your shoulders to return you solidly to the floor. 

You nodded. “I heard the noises you made big, bad _Vagabond,_ ” you pressured. 

You imitated his sexual noises in an exaggerated fashion. Ryan gripped your shoulders and spun you around, suddenly. He pinned you between your kitchen island and his hips, his growing bulge indication of the effects of your taunting. His eyes raked over your body, and he looked as though he was in a contemplative state of mind, carefully considering precisely what his next move would be. 

He licked his lips languidly and, after a moment, walked over to his jacket on the floor. He picked it up, dug into one of the pockets, and produced a pair of handcuffs. Ryan smirked. 

“What do you say we have a little fun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking it out while I write these chapters. It takes quite a bit of doing to schedule the time, and my inspiration doesn't always follow along. Youse all are beautiful and give me the push! <3


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